Co-Op Missions: Blood and Stone
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: If he was cut, did he not bleed? Well, he was only human - of course he did. But Stone well knew that not all wounds were physical.


_A/N_

 _So,_ Cradle of Death _was released, pretty much confirming that despite some theories to the contrary (mine own included), Stone isn't John Raynor. Which sucks. :(_

 _But anyway, drabbled this up._

* * *

 **Blood and Stone**

 _If I am cut, do I not bleed?_

He supposed he did. There'd been quite a few zerg onboard the Cradle, and a number of the little fekks had managed to get a hit in or two. Nothing more than the occasional scratch, but still, he bled, and bleeding hurt. But still, the zerg were far outside his mind right now. His mind's eye, through his actual eyes, was focused on the scene before him. The Cradle's CIC was proof that terrans could bleed, and not just through cutting. In the scene before him, there were bullet holes, shell casings, and the bodies of the fallen the bullets inside those casings had passed through. The CIC staff had fought to the last man. That wasn't to say that the lightly armed commanders and scientists had fought well. By the time the Dominion forces had fought their way here, none of them had the inclination to provide any quarter to Amon's thralls. And Moebius Corps being Moebius Corps, they hadn't provided the Dominion any reason to.

 _I'm sorry._

He didn't say that out loud. He just stood there, in the middle of the carnage. He watched a marine pick up one of the scientists' bodies, slinging it over his power-armoured shoulder as if carrying a beach towel. He knew that if he'd expressed any sympathy for the fallen, he'd get a few stares from people that tried their best to ignore the presence of a Ghost. But in private, he couldn't help but mourn them. The Moebius Foundation had played with fire in its hybrid program. It had got burnt, and now the Moebius Corps wanted to burn everything else. But that didn't remove any and all pity for them. They were still terran. At one point, they'd been actual individuals. It seemed such a waste to commit wholesale slaughter, but often, that was the ultimatum the Moebius Corps provided. The same ultimatum that all of Amon's forces did. Kill or be killed.

 _Story of my life._

His story would never be told. His story was kept in a high security file stored on Ursa. He'd be dead and gone long before Moebius Corps escaped the memories of the people of the Koprulu sector – provided that there were any left when all this was over. Still, some of his stories were familiar. Taking part in the deactivation of a battle station powered by xel'naga technology wasn't one of them. Hearing the clump-clump-clump of power armour behind him? He was used to that.

 _So that's the Ghost._

Hearing the thoughts of non-pychs. He was used to that as well. Good enough to know that Commander James Raynor was approaching him even before he turned and looked up at his superior.

"Commander Raynor."

He knew the man was coming. Still paid to be polite. Raynor, for his part, didn't seem to acknowledge him. He just stood there, over a head taller thanks to his CMC armour, looking out over the carnage before him. Stone reached out with his mind…

 _What a waste._

And reached back, impressed. Enough to cut back on the teeping at any least. It cut through the tedium of spoken conversation, but non-teeps didn't like having their minds read. He could respect that.

"You're the Ghost?"

" _A_ Ghost, Sir."

Raynor smirked. "Got a name?"

"I do. Course it's classified." He took off his helmet – Raynor had his visor lowered, he could offer the commander the same courtesy. "Agent Stone. Ghost Number-"

"Save it kid." Raynor walked across the CIC, and the Dominion marines stood to attention. Funny how they were now taking orders from the man that had once fought against Arcturus Mengsk, and if rumour was to be believed, played a role in his downfall as well, the Ghost reflected. He also reflected that if he probed his mind long enough, he might be able to get the answer. Still…

"Orders Commander?"

"As you were. Clean up, then we clean out. Want us space-side within the hour."

"Yes Sir."

Still, he decided against it. His job was to keep secrets. Sometimes that involved a rifle, sometimes a blade, sometimes just keeping his mouth shut. So when Raynor looked back at him, staring at him like…like a simile that escaped him, he didn't say anything.

"Do I know you?" he asked.

Stone blinked – of all the questions that Commander Raynor could have asked, he wasn't expecting that one. "I…don't think so?" he said.

The commander stood there, looking at him. Helmet to his side, all Stone could do was look back. Brown eyes, black hair, hard face…Raynor looked ordinary. In Stone's experience, people who looked ordinary were the most likely to _not_ be ordinary, and James Raynor's history only validated that assessment. Granted, he looked ordinary as well – brown eyes, black hair (military regulation length, thanks), a normal face...he didn't like to brag, but yes, he wasn't ordinary. He wasn't even a fully trained Ghost, but the Academy was happy to send him on missions like this.

"What's your name?" Raynor asked.

Granted, that could have been just because of the situation the Dominion was facing right now, but-

"Agent?"

Stone stood to attention. "That's classified, Sir."

Raynor snorted. "Whose arse you covering?"

"Mine, Sir."

"So you know your name, but won't tell me, because some file on some planet-"

"Moon."

"…says that you can't." Raynor paused. "I could order you to divulge it."

"You could, and I'd be obliged to point out that you'd need clearance from someone with a higher rank than yourself." Stone paused, not sure where this was going, or if he liked it. "I'd also be obliged to ask why."

Raynor didn't say anything. He just stood there, staring. Armoured hand to an unarmoured chin. It was clear, even without teeping, that something was bothering the rebel-turned commander. He just had no idea what. Was it that he didn't like Ghosts? Maybe, especially since Nova had been the one to bring him in to the _Moros_. But still, he didn't think so.

"If that will be all Sir."

Raynor didn't say anything, so he took that as a yes. He turned around and prepared to exit CIC. Raynor's forces would go one way, he'd report back to Ursa. Either to continue training, or get another 'training assignment' that-

"Is your name John?"

He spun around and looked at the commander. Eyebrow raised. Mouth in a frown.

"Is it John?" Raynor repeated, his voice sounding almost pleading. "Are you John?"

"I…" Stone trailed off. "Sir, I-

"You could be him," Raynor said, speaking in such a way that Stone wasn't sure whether the commander was talking to him, or himself. "I mean…if you..." He trailed off, looking embarrassed.

"No…you're too old…at least…"

"My name isn't John." Stone stood a tad taller. "I can tell you that much."

Raynor sighed. "No. No, of course you're not." To Stone's surprise, he saw him walk over and give the wall a kick, causing some flakes of concrete to fall onto the floor. "Of course you're fekking not."

Stone supposed he could leave. There wasn't anything keeping him here. Nothing outside curiosity at least. And besides, curiosity had killed more cats than he'd killed people.

"Sir?" he asked slowly. "Who's John?"

He could stand to kill a few more though. He could stand there, and watch as Raynor glanced back at him, not in anger, but in sorrow.

"Who's asking?"

"I am, Sir," Stone said. "You're not obliged to answer of course, but…"

"But you'd like to know," Raynor said. "You get to keep your secrets, but I don't get to keep mine?"

"We've all got secrets," Stone said. "I just don't have the luxury of sharing my own."

A silence lingered between the two men. A silence broken only by the clump-clump-clump of the marines clearing out the CIC. The bodies were long gone. All that remained was to extract what data they could from the monitors and clear out. The Cradle had stopped rocking, but the hand that shook it didn't rule the world.

"John…" Raynor took a breath. "John was my son."

Stone took note of the use of 'was,' but remained silent.

"He was three when it happened," Raynor continued. "This was back when the Confederacy was a thing. Got a letter. Said he was _gifted_." He scowled. "Bet you know what I mean by that."

Stone nodded.

"Shipped off from Mar Sara, and…" He took a breath. "Never saw him again. Said there was a shuttle accident. But…"

"But that's not what you think," Stone murmured.

"What I think?" Raynor gave the wall a pound with his hand, causing more flakes to fall. "Doesn't matter what I think. Maybe there was a shuttle accident. Maybe there wasn't. Maybe John became a Ghost. Maybe that doesn't even matter because of the zerg invading Tarsonis. Or maybe he got caught up in the Ghost purge in '03. Or Arcturus sequestered him somewhere for the hell of it. Or maybe something else happened because the universe kicks you as soon as you're born, and doesn't stop kicking until you curl up and die." He sighed. "That was eight years ago, by the way."

 _So he'd be eleven then,_ Stone reflected. _And you thought he was me?_

He couldn't be angry. He didn't have a son, or any kind of family for that matter. But he could imagine what James Raynor might have felt – what he might still feel – right now. He'd taken lives before. Some of them, he could tell, would be missed by those who loved them.

"Are there any records?" Stone asked. "Valerian's emperor now, I bet he could look up the Ghost Academy files."

"He could," Raynor said. "But he'd have to deal with the loss of personnel and data back from when the Academy was on Tarsonis. Zerg aren't exactly the most courteous of invaders."

 _Except Korhal,_ Stone thought. But he didn't say that. Instead, he said, "for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"Why?" Raynor asked, looking surprised.

"Because…" He gestured to the blood. To where a body had once been. "Because I know what death is? Because I know that everyone has, or at least had, someone who cared about them at some point?"

"Interesting attitude for an assassin."

"I kill whomever needs to be killed."

"And who decides that?"

"Same person who puts a gun in your hands and tells you to shoot."

He watched Raynor tap his holster. "I've had this gun for quite awhile."

"Maybe. But the ammo's going to have to come from somewhere. Guessing it's a bit easier now since you're flying a new flag."

Raynor didn't say anything. He just stood there, looking at Stone with a mixture of annoyance, but respect. Stone didn't mind – people rarely looked at him with anything but contempt.

"You're dismissed Agent."

"Sir." He put his helmet on and departed CIC.

There'd be a new assignment. There'd be another battle. Perhaps this was all for nothing, considering the stakes in this war. Perhaps John Raynor was dead, and perhaps Jim Raynor was fated to join his son in whatever world might lie beyond this one.

It was a nice thought.

Sort of.


End file.
